Switch
by Silver Eternity
Summary: Inspired by a picture of the same name on y-gallery, when I made a comment about wanting to write the reply was "DO IT." So...well, I obeyed that order. Enjoy?


SWITCH

To say the least, the suggestion had come as a surprise. "Look, guys, I'm _really_ tired of you two sniping at each other nonstop and when you have a really bad fight Conman sends _me _to get his blood packets and I have other things to do dammit, so you two are going to make up if I have to lock you in a room and magically seal it until you stop fighting!" Worth and Conrad had been so surprised they even forgot to remind Hanna to breathe. They stared at him as he stood there, panting, and he was entirely serious, magic sparking in his eyes and over his fingertips the way it did when he was about to fuck shit up.

"Hanna," Conrad had appealed, his anger evaporating and his red eyes contrite, but the little ginger hadn't let him.

"NO. Ever since you met him, you two have been scrapping like magicians and Alchemists, and I've _had it_."

Conrad shrunk from the smaller man's anger, snaggletooth digging into his lower lip. Worth's lip curled in a snarl, but Hanna cut him off too, though in a decidedly more physical fashion- he zapped his mouth with a little burst of magic and sealed it shut. For a second, he was afraid there was a metal plate there like the last time Hanna had used his magic to shut him up, but a quick check confirmed his lips were merely glued together.

"I know you too well," he'd growled at Worth, "you're just going to use logic and fast talk to try and get my spun around and wishing I'd never brought up the subject just like you did the last time I mentioned going after a ghost. NO. No, you two- you're going to _bond_."

"Um, Hanna…how do you plan on that?" Was the vampire's meek question, and Hanna's smile returned.

"You're going to spend a day in each other's shoes- literally!" The cheery redhead chirped, though Worth could hear what sounded eerily like a twist of sadism buried in that never-ending, cheerful energy that was Hanna's voice.

Conrad, OCD little nightmare he was, went pale. Or rather, the vampire version of pale, which involved the flesh tightening over the facial bones and the eye sockets sinking in and creating black shadows. "In his- _Hanna, he's __**filthy**_!" he shrieked, and Worth made a mental note to add that to his repertoire of insults- the failpire could sing soprano with a voice like that.

"You're going to do it," Hanna's smile was suddenly gone, and the same stern, angrily-constipated expression he got when you questioned his age appeared instead as his fingers sparked again. "Or I'll _make _you do it."

Conrad shuddered. "I work from home! Hanna, if he fucks with my commissions, that's _months_ of work down the drain; three months' rent out the window! Besides, that man can't _handle _my life, and I don't want him causing damage I can't repair!"

"Yeh couldn' 'handle_' mah _life, Connfag," Worth spat back, the magic on his mouth having dissolved, "yer a failure uv'a vamp bu' yeh still wouldn' be able ter 'andle th'patients tha' come inta m'clinic- th'blood wud drive ya fuckin' mad. Honestly, Hanna," he rounded on the little ginger, "wot th'fuck're ya thinkin'? Choirboy in't ta be trusted 'round blood, an' sure's fuck no' in mah clinic!"

The magician finally backed down- they both made good points. "Okayokayokay, so Conman can't be a doctor, I get it, and you should _never _touch Conrad's work stuff, so. Um. No wait, I got an idea. Okay, yeah, you two switch clothes, since you can't switch lives entirely, and try to act like the other, and the clothes will help you get in character!"

Conrad shuddered. He'd have to burn anything Worth wore- god, that man probably had fucking _fleas_. But then Worth slapped his hand down on the desk. "Connie couldn' be _me _fer 24 minnits, 'less 24 hours."

The vampire snarled, the hack having successfully gotten his hackles up yet again. "You couldn't handle being _clean _for 24 hours, you mange-ridden dropout!" Then his stomach dropped- because Worth had just grinned at him, crooked, yellow teeth bared in a hair-raising display that told him he had just walked into a trap.

"So it's a bet. Tamarra. We meet 'ere inna mornin' an' see who c'n stand it longer."

Conrad tried to backpedal. "Uh- wait, no, look, I don't have anything I'm willing to bet! I don't own anything I'm willing to lay on the line-"

"Aye do," Worth smoothly cut in, "if _ya_ win, Princess-" he ignored Conrad's bristling at the nickname- "aye gotta week's worth'a dinner inna fridge as a pressy. An' if _aye_ win, you dun burn whatever clothes ya lent me- ya _keep _'em."

Conrad was more disturbed by the fact that Worth was aware of his plans to burn anything that touched the doctor's skin than by the idea that he had just been thoroughly played. "FINE," he snarled before he thought better of it, then went storming out of the clinic and back home. Fuck. Tomorrow was going to be hell.

Worth sat back in his chair, not even caring that Hanna was chewing him out for turning their forced 'bonding time' into a competition as he swung his feet up onto his desk. Confag was going _down_. He wouldn't even have to cheat…_much_.

The next morning, bright and early- actually, that isn't quite accurate. It was the next morning, bright and early, on _undead _time, meaning it was just after dusk, when the last traces of the sun had disappeared from the sky. Conrad appeared on Worth's doorstep a bag in hand, chin high. "I brought you the clothes, Worth. Let's do this."

Worth was privately impressed. He'd been half-convinced the little cleanfreak would have headed for the hills long ago. Maybe the fagpire had a spine after all, buried in there somewhere. "Awright, Connie. Got it all ready fer ya." He pushed forward a pile of his own clothes to the edge of the desk and delighted in watching the other male wrinkle his nose. Just for kicks, he'd taken some of his clean laundry and rubbed in dirt, oil, antiseptic, and used the shirt as a dustcloth. Not only would the stench be overwhelming to Conrad's vampire senses, the sheer dirtiness would make his skin crawl.

Conrad had to swallow bile as he picked up the clothes, but fuck if that _hack _was going to show him up! Leaving his own clothes on the desk in the neat little plastic bag, he retreated to the bathroom to dress, sealing his own clothes into another plastic bag as he removed them, not wanting to let them touch Worth's floor or furniture.

Worth took nearly as long as Conrad did to change, though he did it right behind his desk- if somebody came in and saw him, what the fuck did he care? His clinic, his rules. But just forcing that weird freaking vest into place was hard- Worth's skinny frame was considerably thinner than Conrad's, who had fairly broad shoulders and, oddly enough, a fair bit of muscle that on Worth was wiry steel, stick-thin. As he adjusted the clothes so they wouldn't fall off him, with a little help from a belt Conrad had thoughtfully provided, he found himself surprised. He wasn't swimming in them, like in Lamont's clothes (Christ, that fucker was built like a goddamn linebacker) but they were loose on him. It was a tad disconcerting- Conrad was such a pussy, but he actually had a half-decent body. Maybe he should look to see how he could upgrade their fights back to physical- if he remembered correctly, he had a killer left hook when provoked.

Conrad emerged from the bathroom with his lip curled, but dressed in Worth's provided white wifebeater, black dress shirt, and black slacks, all of which clung to his form like a second skin. Worth didn't have time to think about the odd stab of _something _that happened to his guts when he saw that, because the vampire was suddenly in front of him, muttering.

"No, no, fuck that's not how you do it, jesus Worth, you're supposed to be _me_ today, you can't wear it like that! I'm fashionable, and that is just pathetic," he was grumbling, hands plucking and pulling, straightening and arranging, tugging and tucking until everything was to his satisfaction. Worth wanted to call him a woman until he realized that this was _exactly_ what Conrad to himself every morning when he got dressed. Fuck, he hadn't been _serious_ when he called the fag OCD, but if this was the way he behaved when it came to something as simple as clothes, there was a very real possibility that OCD was _exactly _what he was. Oh, he HAD to take advantage of this.

He waited until Conrad was finished with him before attaching the precise edges of the shirt on Conrad, undoing the top button and wrinkling the folds. When Conrad protested (squeakily), he shot it down with, "Yeh said it; yer s'posed ta be _me_. When 'ave yah _ever_ seen me tha' fuckin' clean-cut, eh Connie?" When he considered it suitably rumpled and Conrad to be suitably flustered, he then stepped back to take it in. "Hhhmmmm. Sommat's wrong wif'is picture, failpire. Wot's missin'…"

Conrad felt his hackles rising when he brought his fist down into his other palm. "Aye know!" With no warning, he swept the coat off the back of his chair and forced Conrad into it with a single motion before letting it settle over the vampire's shoulders.

Worth stepped back and smirked. "Yah, tha' looks betta." Then it occurred to him to look down at himself. He hadn't thus far, but he did now, and cringed. He looked like the yuppies he used to stitch up in college in exchange for test answers after they got their asses kicked by some jock- or occasionally by himself. "Christ...aye look like a bleedin' tosser...Aye wanna kick m'own ass…"

When there was no reply, Worth abruptly realized it was dead silent in his clinic. Too silent. Conrad was still so new a vampire that he breathed- he forgot he didn't have to anymore. Why wasn't Connie breathing? Worth looked up, and Conrad was completely frozen, eyes wide behind his black, square-framed glasses, every part of his body bristled. It took him a moment to realize the problem. It was the _coat_. He always had it on his person, and it hadn't been washed in forever and an age…

Conrad started freaking out. Worth's _coat_ was on him, it was _touching_ his _skin_, and it was probably infested with bacteria from the goddamn _70's_, and who the hell knew what was in the _fur_ that was _on his neck_ right next to the _open wounds _from the bitch that had killed him and- he couldn't take it. He started screaming. _"SO UNCLEEEAANNNN oh god I can feel it EATING MY SKIIINNNNN wwhhhyyyy did I __**do thiiiissss **__AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH- !"_

Worth paused in his laughter when Conrad cut off abruptly, and looked- apparently, there had been a cockroach in his pocket, and at the coat's violent shaking it had decided it was a good idea to investigate the vampire's skin.

The blond doctor dissolved into howling mirth as his clothes fluttered to the floor as Conrad went streaking into the bathroom, screaming, having flickered to bat form and back to shed the clothes without taking even the few seconds needed to tear them apart.

The next thing Worth noticed was the suddenly extremely strong smell of bleach and splashing sounds from the bathroom, and this sent him into new hysterics.

Hanna, when he knocked on Worth's door later that night to check the progress he and Conman had made, he wasn't expecting the doctor to answer with a grin on his face and still in Conrad's clothes. He was even more confused when he realized Worth's entire office was sparkling clean and the bleach fumes were almost suffocating even though, now that he was inside, he could see every window was open. And Worth's bathroom was locked, and judging from the sounds within, occupied. "Uh, Worth, what the fuck happened?"

Worth was still grinning. "Choirboy lost."

Hanna looked around warily. "And…that's why your place is clean…?"

The blond doctor sat perched on his desk, crossing his legs at the knee. He was still smirking, and it was sort of starting to scare Hanna. "Part o' it. Poor Connie's hadda breakdown. Turns out, 'e really _is _OCD. At least, once 'es seen a roach."

The redhead jumped up. "Oh fuck, we'd better help him, get him to a psychiatrist if he's having an episo-"

"Don't disturb 'im," Worth cut him off, shoving him back from the bathroom door. "Thissus 'is fifth bath in bleach t'day an' six is th'magic number fer this one- if ya interrupt'im e'll hafta start all over again." Worth's smirk, Hanna abruptly understood, was half a high from the bleach fumes, and half having spent the afternoon watching Conrad work himself to the bone in ways that would only benefit the doctor and interrupting his patterns to watch him react.

"You're a sick son of a bitch sometimes, Doc."

Worth resumed reclining on his desk. "Only sumtimes, Hanna? I figgered ya knew I was a sick sunuvabitch 24-7 by now."

From the room where Conrad was pouring bleach over his head for the fourth time, too-sharp vampire ears twitched. _"SICK?"_

The panicked squeal only made Doc Worth dissolve into laughter yet again while Hanna desperately wished he'd never sparked his bizarre competition and prayed that Conrad wouldn't be permanently scarred by this.


End file.
